David Delp

Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Is that it? For five years I have felt no Despair. My therapist and psychiatrist helped me dial in a cocktail of medication that made sure of that, and last month the same team designed a way off that has taken three weeks to implement. Thursday is my first day without any

I was with my daughter at a film festival which had been sponsored by Chipotle, and the following commercial played at the beginning of every show. (Watch it in a minute.) It’s beautifully produced, nostalgic, and powerfully, vaguely inspiring, and after four or five views through the weekend, it grew a little tiresome. Then on

I now carry my entire life’s plan everywhere I go. Written in pencil on 17 3×5 cards, it’s the most efficient form of the Simple System for Everything. You can do it too, easily. Here is what it does for me. It holds a condensed code to my most important aspirations. It reminds me who

It was one of the best and worst days. I don’t know why what happened happened. The thought of a day alone on the beach with my aspirations for the new year bubbling up in my stomach made me giddy. I grabbed the giant umbrella and lawn chair from under the stairs along with some

I don’t like opera that much. I swoon to Jussi Björling’s Les Pêcheurs de Perles, but that’s about it. I’ve never seen an opera in its entirety. That’s why it might seem odd that I’m singing in one, and I think you should, too, at some point soon. Here’s why, in story and list form.

Things change. That’s about all I really know to be true. In the face of change it’s sometimes hard to know who you are any more or what you want from life because life keeps changing its conditions. My work with Pilot Fire is all about how to adapt to change, to actually invite it

We lay down our shields and swords, and we embrace each other and weep. Mother is dead. It may be the most beautiful thing to witness because it is so rare— unfettered grief poured out from men’s hearts. We are taught young to cry, merely by her permission, for crying comes naturally if we let

Morning fear bombs fell on the landscape of my mood all weekend. They knew exactly when I would wake up. Saturday morning just as I rolled over to move my face into the morning sun, I felt the first one drop. It landed in my solar plexus and the shockwave rang down to my groin

To try to kick ass or to not try to kick ass. That is not the question. The question is, how, or firstly, at what exactly will you try to kick ass. Then, how. I tried. With the help of my lexicon reflections, habit scrutinizations, and candid talk of turdliness below, you can learn from my mistakes

With my father behind me and my daughter in front we enter the dark maze. Out of the hovels of the hutongs through which we tunnel, old men emerge with knives and melons and lawn chairs, sweaty and happy, ready to gamble in the grimy street. Rising up behind them like a spacecraft, like a